I have shared this story before. However, some people have asked me recently what it was like during Zach's birth, surgery and healing. They have asked how I felt. How I dealt with it. My first thought was , "Haven't I talked about this enough?" Then I realized that these people are new to our lives and Zach's story. So, here is a brief, small part of his story that sticks with me everyday.
Zach was "over baked" and arrived at a robust 8 lbs 11 oz. Immediately they knew something was wrong. He was flown to Peoria, Illinois and Zach had surgery for TAPVR at the ripe age of 12 hours. They were able to repair his heart defects. When I first saw him, his chest was still open. I could actually see his heart beating and his little lungs working. This was a complete shock to me. I am sure they prepared me for this, but in hearing all that I would see when I arrived at his room, I must have missed this minor detail. They told me his chest was still open to allow for the swelling of the tissue to go down. I know now that this is true. However, I also know that this would allow them easier access should they have to do further surgeries or there were complications.
A week and half later, he lay in his bed and we still had not held him. How did this feel? Terrible. But it was somewhat of our norm by this point. We had never held him so this was all we knew. We comforted him by rubbing his head, arms, legs and feet. I am sure all that rubbing of his feet is why he dislikes having them touched now! We scarred him for life. But I was ready to get this show on the road. His chest was closed. His heart had been repaired but his lungs were damaged due to all the oxygen they pumped in his little body to keep him alive. Every time they tried to pull a chest tube, he would end up with another pneumothorax.
We stayed in the Family House across the road from St. Francis. It was complete with a "bat phone" that would ring into the basement and was a direct line from the hospital. I remember the night it rang to tell us that they had tried to extubate Zach only to have to intubate again. When we arrived at the hospital, he was still a little gray but we watched as he pinked up.
I can't think of an appropriate adjective to describe my feelings after a few weeks of this. Basically, I was just "doing it." Dealing with the norm. April 13th, 1998, I sat in our bed and thoughts swirled in my brain: Would he ever breath on his own? Had I bonded with this child only to have God take him at such an early age? What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I do this? I was a mom. I should have been strong and able to handle it all. Why, why why?!? What now?!?
Then, as quickly as the thoughts started, they ceased. I knew it - I would NEVER be strong enough to do this. It was NOT MINE to do anything with. It was His! I began praying like I had never prayed before. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done, but I had an unexplainable urge to turn it ALL over to God and that included Zach. So, I didn't make deals with God (if he gets better, I promise I will never swear again) and I didn't beg (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE help me) and I didn't question (WHY?). I just told Him that I could not do it. The situation and Zach were all His. His will be done. I actually prayed that if God wanted him, that was ok. He could have him as long as it was in His will. I released it all. And then what happened?
I cried and fell into a peaceful slumber. The next morning I awoke with a feeling of comfort and peace. I noticed the blooming tulips outside the Family House and Brian looked at me as though I had four heads. Apparently they had been there for a while! As we entered the hospital that day, I actually felt ready to tackle the day and all it held. Approaching Zach's room, his nurse met us and asked us to sit down. She had some news. I immediately thought, "Oh no. . .God took me up on it. He took him home." But then she said some beautiful words, "You get to hold your little boy today!" Tears of joy flowed down my cheeks as I heard the words that his lungs looked great that morning!
Would I still be joyful of an answered prayer if God had decided that he was not to come home with us? I would like to say, "yes." I would like to say that "Sure! My faith is that strong." But, I have not lived it. I don't know. I know what I have experienced. I know the incredible peace that I felt when I turned it all over. I know the love I felt from family and friends. I know the bonds formed during that time. I know that I learned what it means to sit with someone in pain and just love them without trying to fix it.
That is my experience. That is what I felt. That is what I learned.
Maybe one day I will share more. But today, I am exhausted from reliving this.
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